let's get out of this town
by Sang-Argente
Summary: Stiles had already sort of realized that the rest of their lives would only ever be classified as after and no one would ever have to ask after what because the only people left already knew. [prequel to you and me are the lucky ones]


Technically, Scott came first. He was the Alpha, after all. He was the hero, the one who saved those in need and took them with him when he found out they had nowhere else to go. He was the one who picked them up and dusted them off and gave them a purpose as they trailed from one town to another, one life to another. He was the king and everyone he saved was one of his loyal subjects.

But a king always has an adviser.

Someone who leads them, cautions them, supports them.

And for Scott, that was Stiles.

So maybe Stiles came first.

Stiles, who brought Scott. Then Allison. Then Lydia. Then Jackson and Danny. Then Isaac and Erica and Boyd. Then finally Kira.

Yeah, that sounded a bit right.

-x-x-x-x-

The night that Stiles dragged Scott into his secret little world was, quite possibly, the worst night in all of Stiles's memory.

It was a late October evening and Stiles had been laying in his room staring at the ceiling. He'd already finished his homework, done all his chores, and ate almost everything in the house. For an eighteen year old boy, the only thing left to entertain himself with was jacking off and he'd already done that twice today so he was trying to hold off. He didn't want to, like, chafe himself or anything.

Right when he had decided to go to sleep, his phone started blaring the red alert signal from Star Trek. He fumbled around on the nightstand for a moment before finally stopping the noise.

"Scott?"

"Stiles!" Scott practically screamed, his voice hoarse and frightened. "Oh my god, Stiles."

Stiles sat up in bed, fingers tight around the phone. "Scott, what's wrong? What happened?"

"I was in the woods, looking for the inhaler I dropped when we were running the other day, when something jumped out and attacked me!"

"Are you okay?!"

"No," Scott panted, still panicked but getting quieter. "No, I think it bit me."

Jumping out of bed, Stiles started twirling around his room furiously, reaching for his shoes and jacket. "Okay, buddy, just stay calm. I'm on my way."

"Alright. Okay. I'm calm, I swear."

"Sure you are," Stiles agreed, stomping down the stairs, glad that his dad was at work so he wouldn't question where he was going this late at night.

Really, it wasn't that long a drive from his house to the edge of the woods, but imagining his best friend bleeding out alone made it feel twice as long as usual. He was vaguely aware of the flashing blue lights of police cars but none of them followed him so he didn't pay much attention.

Screeching to a stop, he jumped out of the jeep and left it running as he darted into the woods.

"Scott! SCOTT!"

A weak cough sounded from the side and, as Stiles turned to look, a tanned hand rose into the air and waved.

"Here."

"Oh my god, Scott," Stiles choked out, falling to the ground next to his friend. Scott's shirt was soaked with blood and, from the wetness of his knees , Stiles guessed that the leaves under him were too. He pressed his hands against the gushing bite on Scott's side. "Scott..."

"Hey, hey," Scott whispered, bringing a hand to lay on top of Stiles's. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"No, no, Scott, you're not okay," Stiles denied as he pressed harder into Scott's side. Scott winced, but there was no way Stiles was letting go now. "You're bleeding and it's awful and, frankly, there's so much blood that I think there's more on the ground then there is in your veins right now."

"I-I know. I know there is but, Stiles, it's okay."

Stiles's vision blurred, tears sliding down his cheeks in a continuous stream. "You dying is not okay."

Scott tried to laugh, but was stopped by how much he was coughing. A strange black fluid coated his lips and trailed down to his chin. "Ssh, don't make me laugh."

"I don't know why you would be laughing," Stiles admitted, his voice shaking almost as much as his hands. Despite how hard it was for him to stay still, he never took his eyes off Scott's dimming brown eyes. "You're bleeding out in the woods and I can't help you. All I can do is watch. Plus, something horrible is happening across town that has all the cops on shift out and about so maybe my dad is dying too, I don't know. But there's nothing I can do for him either. So, here we are, in the woods. You're dying and I'm watching and life is crumbling down around us as I speak."

"A-across t-town?" Scott asked, his fingers tightening around Stiles's. "The h-hospital? Mom?"

Dread slipped through his veins, hard and icy cold. He hadn't even thought about Melissa, but of course that would be Scott's first thought. "I'm so sorry, Scott."

"Mom," Scott repeated. His voice was soft and heartbroken, just like the rest of his slowly relaxing body.

"Scott, no, please," Stiles begged, bending his head down close to Scott's. Tiny whimpers were escaping with every breath. "Please, you can't leave me. I can't live without you. You're my brother, Scott, and if you die, I got nothing left."

If he hadn't been so close, he would have missed Scott's quiet breath of voice. "Help...please."

"I will. I will help."

He stared down at his hands, half-forgotten green sparks curling around his bloodied fingers. They wobbled around his hands in hesitation but he willed them forward, desperation stinging in every nerve.

"Stiles!" Scott yelled, his back bowing up into the air.

Pressing harder, Stiles watched as the sparks spread out into a glow, smoke curling at the edges.

"Stiles!"

His concentration broke, his eyes shot up to Scott's, watching as they flared a bright red once or twice before fading into a wet, gleaming gold.

Scott's mouth dropped open, fangs spreading around a deep roar.

"STILES!"

Stiles smiled crookedly, slipping down onto the ground as his vision faded. His voice was a barely-there croak as he slurred, "Congrat'lations, Scotty. Yer a w'rewolf."

-x-x-x-x-

A few days later, Allison showed up in a whirlwind of fear and determination, a quiver of arrows on her back and a bow in her hand. If it hadn't been for that and the stiff set of her shoulders, Stiles would've thought she'd simply come by to see Scott, just like any other day.

But it wasn't any other day. It was _after._

Stiles had already sort of realized that the rest of their lives would only ever be classified as _after_ and no one would ever have to ask _after what_ because the only people left already knew.

After Scott was bitten. After the town was destroyed. After their parents were murdered. After Stiles dragged Scott's soul away from the afterlife with nothing more than his force of will and tiny spark of his mother's magic.

Still, it wasn't like he was going to turn Allison away. Not when he knew that she didn't have anyone else but Scott either.

"Sorry," Allison murmured quietly as she sat at Stiles's kitchen table, tracing the years old scratches in it with her eyes while a mug of coffee warmed her hands.

"For what?" Stiles asked, quiet and frail. Everything in him felt just as crumbled and burned as the rest of his life. He was sure that if his soul had a scent, it was the acrid smell of burning flesh.

Allison turned the mug in circles, never taking her hands away. "I know that...that you probably just want to pack Scott up and carry him away from all this. I know you probably want to run from this empty house and never look back. Escape all the memories that have been tainted. That maybe, if you get far enough, it'll all feel like a dream. Like you still have your life, still have your dad-"

Increasingly present green sparks flared from Stiles's fingertips. A sick twisting started in his stomach when he caught sight of the startled fear in Allison's eyes and he snatched his hands off the table.

"Sorry," he choked out, curling his nails into the soft wood of his chair. "That's been happening a lot since- you know."

Nodding slowly, the fear slowly drained out of Allison and she looked back down at her cooling coffee. "Anyway. I'm sure you would like to do all that and I'm sorry that I'm holding you up but...I appreciated the chance to see Scott again. Even if...even if."

"Hey, hey," Stiles said urgently, his hands flying up and out. He paused as her shoulders stiffen, letting her see that his fingers were clean of any magic, then gently wrapped them around hers. "Just because I'm the one getting Scotty the hell out of Dodge doesn't mean you gotta stay behind. The jeep is built for five people, but good ol' Roscoe can fit however many I gotta cram in there. Promise."

She raised her eyes to his and, slowly, a grateful smile started spreading across her face. "I've got my car, but I appreciate the sentiment."

"Oh, good," Stiles feigned relief, slumping over the table. "I was afraid we'd have to skimp on the good stuff."

"Ha!" Allison laughed sharply, the sheen of her goodness fading away as she realized exactly what they were in for. "With what my p-parents left behind? Not a chance. Hell, I might even be able to scrounge up a survival kit or twenty."

Stiles smiled at her understandingly and threw an arm over her shoulder, pulling her in close. "That's my girl."

"Hey," Scott rumbled hoarsely from the doorway. "You hitting on my girl?"

"Oh, Scotty," Stiles said in an over-sweet voice, turning to stare at his pseudo-brother seriously. "I've already stolen her away!"

Allison giggled against Stiles's side but Scott heard what he wasn't saying. Like Stiles, he kept up the lighthearted banter. Who knew when they'd get the chance to laugh again? "Well, in that case, I'll just have to win her back."

"Aww, Scott," Allison cooed, reaching for him. When he got close enough, she grabbed his hand tightly and smiled. Her voice was just hard enough to let them know that, while she appreciated the joke, she could see straight through it. "You know you're the only one for me. I'll follow you anywhere."

"Damn straight," Stiles agreed. He grabbed Scott's other hand and they all stood there, quiet in Stiles's empty house, like the lost children they were, clinging to the only things they knew.

And that was how they got Allison.

-x-x-x-x-

They really hadn't been expecting to pick anyone else up before they left, but when they had stopped at the half-burnt sheriff's station for some extra supplies, there they were.

A man and a woman, clutching at each other like if they let go one might fade away.

They introduced themselves as Lydia and Jordan. Stiles took one look at them and sighed, driving them back to his house for a hot meal and even hotter shower. The poor couple had apparently been at the station the whole time, too scared to leave.

"We just moved here," Jordan explained quietly, bundled in some of Stiles's dad's clothes. When he had protested, Stiles had laughed harshly and pointed out that his dad wouldn't need them anymore. "None of our stuff was even unpacked yet. We were taking the time to settle in, hoping this would be the place."

"What place?" Scott asked.

Jordan looked at him with pale, broken eyes. "The place we could make our home. We left ours to get away from...well."

"To get away from my parents," Lydia said, her voice just as sharp as the nails she was digging into her thighs. She had accepted a pair of Stiles's skinny jeans from ninth grade, a pair of Allison's boots, and a worn-soft summer camp t-shirt from Scott. "Jordan's quite a bit older than me so when my parents found out that we were together they totally flipped. It was ridiculous and some of the stunts they pulled bordered on illegal. I was tired of it so I did some extra work, graduated a semester early, and left town with Jordan on my arm and a wedding band on my finger."

"Oh, you're married?" Allison question politely, trying not to pry into their lives.

"It's not official or anything," Jordan said, lacing his fingers through Lydia's. "No paperwork, no rubber stamp, no record."

"But we fed each other pomegranate seeds and if that's good enough for Persephone, it's good enough for me," Lydia continued, finality ringing in her voice.

Stiles jerked his head towards the couple on the couch, abandoning the book he had been immersed in while the others talked. "That's kind of eccentric, don't you think?"

"No," Lydia bit out, turning to Stiles with steely eyes and a sugary smile. "In fact, it's something my grandmother shared with her husband. Kind of a family tradition."

Realization lit in Stiles's eyes and he nodded. "A Banshee. How interesting."

"How do you know that?" Lydia demanded, but it was no use. Stiles had already dived back into his book.

Scott cleared his throat, waiting for Lydia to turn to him. "Stiles know a lot. I've known him for almost fifteen years and just discovered the other night that he's part of the supernatural."

Lydia stared at him, her mouth hanging open just the little bit. Her teeth clicked together loudly when she realized. "And you? Are you supernatural?"

"Oh, well. I guess I am now," Scott said hesitantly, blinking like that hadn't occurred to him yet. He waved at her with clawed fingertips, something that was coming to him easier and easier as the days went by. "I was bitten by a werewolf a few nights ago."

Turning to where Allison sat, Lydia eyed her a bit nervously but noticed how none of this seemed to be surprising the other girl. "Let me guess, you're some kind of witch."

Allison giggled, shaking her head. "No, that's Stiles. I'm just a hunter."

"Of course you are," Lydia muttered disbelievingly. Her thoughts caught up with her and she almost pulled something in her neck when she whipped back towards Stiles. "Wait, you're a witch?!"

Stiles looked up with mischievous eyes and nodded, his voice agreeable as he said, "Some kind, yeah. What about you, Jordy?"

"Me?" Jordan blurted out in surprise. "I'm just...just a deputy."

"No," Lydia disagreed. "He's something. I don't know what, I've never heard of anything like it, but he's something. He held me through the explosion and none of the fire burned us. We couldn't escape all the debris but the flames never got close."

"Well," Stiles huffed out, slamming his book closed and standing to stretch. "There's nothing for it, then. You'll come with us."

"Where are you going?" Jordan asked, voice curious yet understanding.

"Who cares?" Stiles muttered, heading upstairs one last time. "Anywhere's better than here."

And that was how they got Lydia and Jordan.

-x-x-x-x-

They weren't twenty miles out of town before the Alpha that had bit Scott decided to take his errant Beta back. They'd been at the first open gas station they'd seen, fueling up their cars with cheap gas and their bodies with cheaper food, when they were attacked.

The fight seemed to drag on forever and flash by in seconds. Allison was flinging arrows and Scott was slashing claws and Stiles was containing everything to the back parking lot with a thin ring of mountain ash. Energy was high and blood was pumping and failure was staring them right in the face.

Until Lydia screamed.

Stiles, recognizing the eerie quality of Lydia's voice, stopped first. Scott stopped next, raising still clawed hands to protect his sensitive ears against her assault. Allison stopped last, but she was the first to realize what had happened.

Just as the Alpha had lunged toward Scott, his claws out for the debilitating blow, Jordan had jumped between the two weres, wolfsbane bullet loaded gun pointed right at the Alpha's heart.

But what was debilitating for a Beta werewolf was fatal for a mostly-human deputy.

Jordan's throat split open, blood spraying, and his hand spasmed around the gun, plugging the Alpha with three bullets before he fell to the concrete.

Lydia screamed again, but it was a clearly human expression of agony. She ignored the gasping, desperate Alpha as she stumbled forward, falling to her knees next to Jordan. She pulled his head into her lap and pet him gently, running her hands all over the man's face and through his hair.

"Oh, Jordan..."

Pale eyes stared up at her sightlessly, but she couldn't bring herself to cover them. All she _could_ do was curl around her husband's body, clutching him to her as she started to sob.

Allison and Scott stood nearby, clutching at each other with the same fierceness. They were clearly aware that, if it hadn't been for Jordan, it would be Allison in Lydia's position, heartbreaking wails echoing around the empty parking lot.

Stiles was on the other side of the spectacle, crouched next to the near dead Alpha. It was a bit rude but he knew he might not get another opportunity like this and he'd always been the type to take advantage of opportunities.

He stayed there, firm with his feet flat on the ground, carefully cutting the Alpha's claws off with a sharp knife. When he was done, he pulled out a little baggie and dropped his handful of claws into it. He smiled down at the Alpha, lips stretched thin and teeth sharp, as he tucked the baggie back into his pocket.

"No hard feelings, right?" Stiles murmured under his breath, knowing the Alpha had heard him when he caught sight of the disbelief in the were's eyes. Raising an eyebrow at the obvious life, Stiles trailed his eyes down the Alpha's chest, sighing when he saw the bullet holes. "Well, Jordy didn't _quite_ manage to get you in the heart, but A for effort I always say. No matter, I'm here to make sure you don't go crawling off to save yourself."

With that, he brought up the hand still clutching the knife and dragged it across the Alpha's throat in one deep carve.

"Now, don't you worry about trying to heal that little thing," Stiles said, watching the Alpha with that same strange grin. He brought the knife up so the Alpha could see it and waved it cheerfully. "Coated in wolfsbane, this is. A pretty rare strain, too, so if, by some _miracle_ , you _do_ manage to make it back to whatever you're calling a pack, they won't be able to help any. So, my suggestion to you would be to just lay back and get ready for a long, _long_ sleep. Goodnight."

Despite the aching throb in his knees and the itching between his shoulder blades that told Stiles he was being stared at, he didn't stand until all the light bled out of the Alpha's eyes.

He turned to Scott and, seeing the look in his brother's eyes, he shrugged. "Seems he was tired. Went right to sleep."

Scott nodded slowly, holding out a hand for Stiles to latch onto, and turned back to keep watch on Lydia.

And that was how they lost Jordan.

-x-x-x-x-

They stumble on Jackson and Danny a month later. It's been rough for them and every day starts with a prayer to anyone that they'll live through the next twenty four hours. The further they get from their home, though, the easier things seem to get. There's less fights, less blood, less everything. Still, the absence of something bad doesn't necessarily mean the presence of something good.

But that's okay. They are alive and they are together. Scott and Allison have each other and they are happy with that. Stiles and Lydia have each other and they hate life less when they stay together. It's something.

So of course that's when they stumble right into some kind of mess.

It was an accident, Scott will claim for the next ten years. There was a scream, a roar, and silence in rapid succession. Staying in a cheap motel that close to action made Scott feel a bit responsible, that's all.

Allison will roll her eyes and giggle, calling Scott her little werehero.

Lydia will stare blankly whenever someone mentions it, almost as if she can't remember anything about it. Stiles knows she can, that she remembers every second that ticks by without Jordan, but understands why she acts like she doesn't. After all, his dad had been pretty certain that Stiles didn't remember much of the eleven months right after his mom died, all because Stiles had never mentioned it to him.

(He had, however, mentioned it to the various therapists he had seen when the panic attacks started. He asked vague questions about dementia and alcoholism and broken families, only ever referring to it as _the year that wasn't_ when his doctors asked.)

But he understands. He understands a lot, actually. And that's why the only thing he'll ever say about the whole Jackson and Danny thing is that it only ever took that moment for him to respect Jackson, despite his incapability to act like anything other than a huge asshole.

Really though, it was just another misstep on their journey. They were only lucky that this one hadn't killed anyone. Well, no one that didn't deserve it anyway.

They were walking down the sidewalk, headed to the rundown little dinner a block or two from their motel. A few towns ago Lydia had sold a few pieces of jewelry and they had all agreed that they deserved a real meal after the last month. Stiles had done his best to make sure they'd all eaten as nutritionally as possible while sustaining themselves with gas station food, but they were eager for the chance to eat a real meal.

That had been when they heard the scream. Pausing for only a moment, they were quick to run toward the noise, Scott sliding his claws out and Allison doing the same with her various knives. Stiles had sparks curling around one hand, the other firmly clasped around Lydia's wrist.

They'd just reach the entrance to a cramped, rotten smelling alley when the roar sounded from all around them. They all flinched back, but Stiles was the only one to notice how Scott's eyes flared a deep red for a quick moment.

In the following silence they were hesitant to move forward, inching slowly into the alley as if that would stop them from meeting their horrible fate. If that was indeed what was waiting for them in the alley.

It wasn't.

Instead, they turned just in time to see a tall man jump toward two boys huddled together near a dumpster. A bright flash of metal appeared and disappeared just as quickly, aimed at the dark haired boy.

"Hey!" Scott yelled, stepping forward with his hands out, but it was too late.

The other boy had flung his hand out, catching the man's hand in his and bringing the other to the man's throat. He growled as he trailed his fingers up to the man's chin, holding it roughly and, in a quick jerk, snapping the man's neck.

Lydia started to scream, but Stiles was quicker. He pulled her into him, burying her face into his chest so no one who hadn't heard the earlier scream would come running.

"What the hell was that?" Scott breathed, his hands stilled raised awkwardly in front of him. Allison stood at his side, knife held up defensively, but stayed silent.

When it was obvious that neither of the two boys would be talking, Stiles let go of Lydia and stepped forward with his hands up and open. He looked from the blonde boy, who had dropped the dead body and turned to hold his companion, to the dark haired boy and sighed heavily.

"Are you hurt?"

"Stiles!" Scott hissed from behind him. "Are you crazy?! He just killed that guy!"

"Shut up, Scott. They're obviously terrified," Stiles whispered out of the corner of his mouth, never taking his eyes of the boys. "Seriously, are either of you hurt?"

The dark haired boy shifted in the blonde's hold and nodded. "M-my chest hurts- he got in a few good punches first- and my arm is cut open pretty deep. J-Jackson's got a few scrapes and bruises, b-but those are probably fine?"

"Oh," Stiles said in surprise, blinking at the blonde- Jackson?- with new eyes. "You're a werewolf?"

Blue eyes flashed but Jackson nodded slowly. "But my boyfriend isn't. He's a human."

"Well, Jackson and Jackson's boyfriend," Stiles said brightly, bringing his hands together. "Why don't we take you with us to our motel room so we can get you fixed up? I'll wrap those ribs and Allison can stitch up that cut. She's the best at field stitching."

Allison moved to stand by Stiles, a hesitant grin on her lips and a nervous wave wiggling her fingers. "It's true. Straightest stitches this side of the Mississippi!"

"Oh, uh, alright," Jackson agreed after a quick glance at his boyfriend, who was nodding eagerly. "But, uh, what about... _him?_ "

Stiles waved his hand, unconcerned. "Oh, don't worry about him. This is a shady part of town and he's got a knife in his hand. I'm sure the police officers of this great city will take care of it, no problem."

"Okay," the dark haired boy agreed, finally moving towards them. "Where are you staying?"

"The Blue Roof Inn," Stiles informed them, leading them out of the alley after stopping only a moment to grab Lydia. "It's just a block from here. A nice place for the price, if a little untrue. The roof is actually this kind of rusted gray color, but maybe it's, like, artistic license or something. Maybe it was blue once. Who knows? The bed covers are blue, but maybe that's just coincidence. Once, twice, you know."

"Don't worry," Scott said, his voice friendly and sincere. "Stiles is always like that. Sometimes he gets in these weird moods where he never says a words, but rambling is his way of being friendly."

"Is that what we are now? Friends?"

"Sure," Scott nodded. "We watched you kill a guy and you're letting us patch you up and feed you. What else would we be if we weren't friends? I don't want to be enemies or anything like that with you, Jackson. Or you, uh, Jackson's boyfriend."

"My name's Danny," the dark haired boy said quietly, a friendly grin dimpling his face. "I didn't know food was part of the deal."

"Of course it is, Danny-boy," Stiles called from the front of their little group, proving that just because his mouth was running didn't mean his ears stopped working. "It's traditional for werewolves to share a feast after they make an alliance. Since we're friends, I hope you'll be nice enough to count burgers and fries as a feast."

"Wait, is that true?" Danny asked, looking over at Jackson and sighing when he shrugged.

"You know what I know about all of this," Jackson said in reply, reaching to curl his fingers through Danny's.

"Well, Stiles knows pretty much everything about werewolves," Allison said, smiling at the back of Stiles's head like he would see it if she just managed to make it bright enough. If the fingers he brought around to his back and wiggled in her direction were any indication, he did. "He taught Scott everything he needed to know when he was bitten. Honestly, he's taught me a few things too and I thought I knew all there was to know, being raised as a werewolf hunter."

"So it's probably true," Danny concluded, nodding when Allison did. He pursed his lips for a moment and then pointed at Lydia. "Is she a werewolf?"

"Lydia? No, she's a banshee," Allison answered, shrugging at Jackson's disbelieving face. "We're not really sure what all that means but Stiles stays buried in his books day in and day out looking for ways to help her."

"So you have a werewolf, a werewolf hunter, a banshee, and-" Jackson hesitated before scrunching his nose in distaste. "-a _Stiles_ in your little group."

"Not a group, a pack," Scott rumbled. The others would be worried but one look told them that his countenance was still open and friendly.

"Besides," Allison continued, ignoring her boyfriend's _wolfy outburst_ as Stiles called them. "Now we have another werewolf and a human. Pretty nice mix, I think."

And that was how they got Jackson and Danny.

-x-x-x-x-

It's almost two months after the whole 'murderous werewolf alley meet' before they find Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. Well, they don't _find_ them so much as Scott and Jackson were captured by some hunters and thrown into a small cell next to them. It was actually not as bad as it could have been, especially since the cell bars weren't even electrified.

"Seriously? _Seriously?_ " Jackson kept repeating, knocking his head against the wall petulantly. "I had plans with Danny tonight."

"Oh, man, that sucks," Scott said from his place in the floor. He'd been hoping that they could get through this kidnapping relatively quietly. If Jackson kept his mouth shut, he might even be able to catch a nap.

"Right?" Jackson sighed heavily and stretched his legs out as he finally relaxed, nudging Scott in the face with his foot. Accidentally, of course.

Scott took the nudge with grace, not even bothering to open his eyes. He'd grown up with Stiles, after all, so if a bit of foot-in-face was all Jackson had up his sleeve then he had nothing to worry about.

"We were supposed to go to that lame ass play at the community center," Jackson said, frowning.

"The one that Stiles got you tickets for since you were too freaked to do it yourself?" Scott teased gently. In the past month or two, they'd all realized that Jackson couldn't react to harsher taunts with anything other than murderous rage. They'd managed to compromise with light teasing and annoyed huffs on his end. It was progress.

"Yeah," Jackson shrugged, seemingly unaffected by needing the person he least liked set up dates for him. "I don't know, man. It's Danny's favorite."

Scott smiled to himself, humming in his throat as he turned his head. He opened his eyes and mouth at the same time but froze when he saw what was in front of him. "What?!"

"I said-"

"Not you, I heard you," Scott spit out, sitting up suddenly. He stared at the three figures that were huddled in a cell across from him and Jackson. "Uh, hi?"

The curly haired boy squeaked and stepped behind the other boy, his pale hands shaking where they were clenched into dark skin. The girl just stared back at him disbelievingly.

"Hi?" Jackson drawled in confusion. He turned to where Scott was staring and gaped in shock. "Oh, what the fuck is this?!"

There was another squeak from the trio's cell.

"Umm," Scott hesitated, finally deciding to just jump into it. It was, unfortunately, one of the techniques he had picked up from Stiles over the years. "I'm Scott and that's Jackson and we're werewolves. You?"

The dark skinned boy stepped forward, half-hiding his companions behind his considerable bulk. "Boyd, werewolf."

He pointed at the curly haired boy. "Isaac, werewolf."

And the girl. "Erica, werewolf."

"Great! Nice to meet you!" Scott said brightly. He didn't really remember their unfortunate circumstances until Jackson shoved his elbow into his ribs. "Oh, right. How long have you been here?"

"Two weeks," Boyd answered flatly, nothing in his voice or body language giving him away. Stiles would probably be able to sense something, Scott thought to himself ruefully, but he'd never been a suspicious person and tended to just take people at their word.

"We were taken on the full moon," the girl, Erica, said as she stepped around Boyd, glaring at him defiantly. "So far, nothing too bad has happened. The longer it lasts, though, the more nervous I get."

"I get that," Scott nodded. "No need to worry though. We'll be out of here in thirty minutes, an hour tops."

"You have a plan?" Erica asked, her eyes widened with hope.

Jackson snorted and crossed his arms. "Not us. Our friends."

"Stiles is probably chomping at the bit already," Scott agreed, laughing softly under his breath. "Lydia and Danny are coming up with a plan. Allison's cleaning her weapons."

Another squeak.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Scott said reassuringly. He'd decided that the squeaks were Isaac's attempt to communicate through his high anxiety. Stiles had once had the same problem, before he trained himself out of it. "She was raised as a werewolf hunter by a very old hunting family much more dangerous than these fools."

"Aw, Scotty," came a voice from the end of the dim hallway. "That's so sweet!"

"Allison!"

"Fifteen minutes," Jackson stated, staring down at his watch and then raising an eyebrow at Stiles. "A record."

Stiles waved his hands vigorously. "It was all Allison, man. She recognized the guys that took you, knew all their tricks, and we followed them straight here."

Blushing faintly under the yellow light, Allison shrugged uncomfortably under the half amazed, half shocked stares.

"Yes, well," Lydia huffed, pushing forward to unlock Scott and Jackson's cell. "The goons are only incapacitated, not dead. We haven't really got that much time."

"Who decided _that?_ " Jackson sneered, stepping out and grabbing Danny in a tight hug.

Allison laughed behind her hand. "Surprisingly? Stiles."

"What?" Stiles whined when everyone turned to stare at him. "So I'm trying to knock down our body count a little, sue me."

"You're responsible for almost all of our body count, though," Scott pointed out. He grinned at Stiles's responding eye roll/shrug maneuver and leaned down to kiss Allison on the forehead.

A squeak.

"Oh!" Stiles startled, turning to the other cell. His eyes widened and a quiet cooing started up. Staring back at him with wide blue eyes was the cutest werewolf he'd ever seen. "Who is _this?_ "

"That's Isaac," Scott replied, a light blush of shame dusting his cheeks. He'd almost forgotten the others. "And his friends Boyd and Erica. They're all werewolves."

"And they've been stuck here?" Stiles asked rhetorically, a frown pulling at his lips. Raising a sparking finger, he stuck it in the keyhole and wiggled. He nodded in satisfaction when the cell door popped open. "You'll have to come with us. Right, Scott?"

"Oh, uh, yes?" Scott asked, blinking at the other weres in confusion. They blinked back before looking at each other, shrugging, looking at him, and nodding. "Alright. Yes."

"Fantastic," Lydia drawled as she walked away. "Now, let's get out of here."

"Can we kill at least _one_ hunter on the way out?" Jackson whined.

Danny simply laughed and wrapped an arm around his boyfriend, pulling him close. "Absolutely not."

"Ugh, _fine_. Stiles, I hate you sometimes."

"That's okay. I hate you all the time."

" _Ugh_."

And that was how they got Isaac and Erica and Boyd.

-x-x-x-x-

They were about five months and eight hundred miles into their journey when they stumbled across Kira. For once, they'd had no bad guys to fight or crises to save each other from. They'd actually been in this town for a couple of weeks, enjoying the dense forest and the sharp smelling wind coming off the ocean, and had finally decided to take advantage of it.

Stiles, of course, was against it.

"It's one full moon, Stiles," he mocked under his breath, tripping over roots as he stumbled through the woods a good few yards from where everyone else was laughing and playing. "We've never gotten to run on the full moon, Stiles. Nothing will happen, Stiles. Yeah, right. With our luck, we'll stumble right into some sort of territory war between local weres. Or maybe vampires! God, I hope it's not vampires."

His friends had been running around the woods like pups for the past two hours, Danny and Allison with Jackson and Scott while Lydia and Erica banded together like always. Isaac had offered to stay behind with Stiles because he was a sweetheart, but he'd been able to practically choke on the hope and joy pouring off the poor pup. He'd declined, telling him to have fun with the others.

Stiles had settled down next to a large spruce at the edge of the trees, curling up with one of his ever present books while keeping all his senses stretched to their limits in case of danger.

It was that stretching that alerted him to the electricity crackling through the air in plenty of time to stop his pack from making things worse. It was then that he stood to go after them, stepping carefully around all the debris littering the ground. As the electricity picked up, so did his pace.

There was a sharp tightening stretching across him right when he'd come into the clearing where his friends had gathered.

"Stop!" Stiles panted out, folding over to hold himself up with his knees. He'd been quite far out and running wasn't his thing. The electric spark that had been skimming over his skin held still, seemingly scared and hesitant.

Everyone stared at him in surprise, having turned toward the sound of his thundering heartbeat as it neared.

"Stiles?" Scott asked from where he'd been crouching at the base of the tree. Isaac was beside him, his hands held out in front of him as if reaching for something.

Flapping his hand through the air, Stiles waved the question away and stood, finally refilling his lungs. "What are you doing?"

"We found something," Isaac said, his voice small and upset. "It sounds hurt."

"I think it might be a fox kit," Scott added.

Stiles swore and jumped forward, tugging on the collars of Scott and Isaac's shirts to pull them away from the tree. "Get back. Back up, back up, back up!"

They jumped to their feet and moved away, pulling Stiles with them at the urgency in his voice. Whenever Stiles let that particular squeakiness out, the situation was most usually dangerous.

"What is it?" Allison asked, a hand hovering over a knife tucked in her waistband. She had her other arm stretched out in front of Lydia, unknowingly crossing Erica's, who had moved in front of her best friend at the warning.

Jackson stood with his claws out, side to side with Boyd in front of Danny.

"It's probably not that bad," Stiles hedged, desperately hoping that was true. "Just...everyone just step back a few feet, okay?"

"Stiles, I can't let you face whatever it is alone," Scott complained as he stepped back. It was in his nature as Alpha of their pack to want to protect everyone and he often butted heads with Stiles over it. However, thirteen years of friendship had trained him to go along with what Stiles said when he said it.

"It'll be fine," Stiles said reassuringly. Lowering himself to his knees, he set his palms against the ground and sent out a tiny spark of power.

A tiny, startled bark came from the hole near the tree that Stiles could barely see.

"Uh, hi there," he said softly, keeping his heartbeat as steady as possible. "We didn't mean to scare you. We're not predators or hunters or anything. Scott and Isaac are just softies, can't stand the idea of anything in pain, y'know?"

Silence, then a quietly submissive cackle.

"I promise," Stiles continued, tension draining out of him as he realized the fox was about as much of a threat to them as they were to it. "No one here will hurt you. And I know that we sort of, y'know, trespassed into your home but I'd really appreciate it if you didn't fry any of my friends."

An agreeing bark came in answer and quiet scrabbling started up as the fox crawled out of it's hole.

It was dirty, fur a little matted and grime spread across its face from living in the woods, but beautiful golden orange eyes shined up at Stiles.

Stripping off his jacket, Stiles held it out and shook it. "If you shift back, we can get you something to eat. You like curly fries?"

There was a blur as the fox shifted and jumped forward into Stiles's jacket. Standing in front of him was a short Asian girl- Korean maybe, or Japanese- with the same orange eyes as the fox. She also had the same matted hair, black now and hanging to her shoulders, and the same grime on her face.

"I love curly fries," she said quietly, blushing when her voice broke.

"That's great," Stiles said brightly, holding his hand out. "I'm Stiles. The Alpha you smell is Scott, with our Betas Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Jackson. Lydia, the redhead, is a Banshee. Allison, the one with the knife in her hand, was raised as a hunter. Danny is human."

"I'm Kira. I'm a Kitsune."

Stiles nodded, holding her hand gently before leaning in slowly. He made sure to give her plenty of time to move away but she didn't so he carefully rubbed his nose against hers.

She returned the nuzzle, smiling briefly, before suddenly falling against his chest.

"Oh, Kira," he sighed, bringing his hands up to rub her back as soon as he felt the telling shudders of her thin body.

They stood there for a moment, Stiles's pack standing silent at his back, his shirt growing damper as minutes ticked by. He was secretly relieved when she pulled away.

"S-sorry," Kira sniffled. She tried to laugh as she brought her hand to her face, wiping tears away from her face with the sleeve of Stiles's jacket. He wasn't offended; it had had worse on it, after all. "No one's done that in a long time. Years."

He took her hand and led her over to the pack, keeping his senses open for any sudden spikes. "That's okay. You've got a whole group of people right here that'll be happy to do it every day."

"R-really? Are you sure?"

Isaac, always ready to make someone happy, stepped forward and carefully nuzzled her nose, blushing heavily when he accidentally skimmed his lips against hers.

"S-sorry," he squeaked, leaning back quickly. "I'm Isaac."

Giggling a bit wetly, Kira shook her head. "That's okay, it happens sometimes. Nice to meet you, Isaac."

After that, everyone took their turn nuzzling Kira, except Jackson who just softly patted her shoulder. He wasn't a _total_ asshole, but he so wasn't down for nose rubbing.

"Now, let's get you those curly fries," Stiles said, holding Kira close as he lead the way through the trees. He ignored Isaac as he stepped up to curl a hand around Kira's, letting them talk quietly as he kept an eye out for markers left by his magic on his way in earlier.

The rest of the pack followed Isaac's example, arranging themselves into the most advantageous positions for protecting their newest friend. It wasn't anything they hadn't done for anyone else, but they all recognized difference this time.

Kira was the youngest, obviously a good two or so years younger than Stiles himself. It was obvious that she would be protected more often, more heavily. That was just how it worked in other packs. That was how it would work for them.

Even though she was a bit stronger, a bit more powerful, Stiles had saved her. Had offered her food and family, the only things a fox really needed.

And that was how they got Kira.

-x-x-x-x-

It was a long three months before they'd all agreed that their little city between the trees and the water wasn't working out.

It truly was lovely, without any of the problems they had come across in other towns. There weren't any other supernaturals hanging around or any hunters either. Danny had managed to get a job at the large library across town from their long-stay hotel, while Jackson and Scott worked at the garage half a block away. Boyd, with his large muscles and ageless face, had easily secured a late night post as a bouncer out at the city's only gay bar. It helped that he wasn't easily intimidated.

Of the girls, only Erica and Allison had gotten jobs, trading shifts as waitresses at a little diner by the library. Lydia, having realized that Kira had missed quite a bit of school, took it upon herself to teach her the entire high school curriculum. When Isaac had quietly mentioned that he'd been out of school more often than not, even before being turned into a werewolf, Lydia had just grabbed another piece of paper and copied out the same questions Kira was currently working on as a pretest of sorts.

Stiles left the hotel every morning and didn't come back until late, but no one ever asked where he went and he never offered. It wasn't _really_ a secret, of course; he just didn't want to worry any of the pack. He didn't really think there was any danger, but he still spent his hours circling around town, making sure all his friends were safe, before finally settling in one of the business rooms downstairs.

He spent the next few hours contacting various packs, covens, and clans across America, stringing them along and pulling information from them all. He knew the pack would get restless soon, tired of staying at the hotel and desperately wanting a home. They would pack everything up and move on soon, and he would be ready.

It wasn't until he'd stumbled across Beacon Hills quite by accident that he thought they had a chance. It had been during one of numerous conversations with the High Priestess of a witch coven in New Mexico that it had come up. Witches, especially the ones Stiles made contact with, were horrible gossips.

She'd been a great help with locating werewolf packs close by but had a tendency to ramble on so it was a miracle that Stiles had even caught what she said. He normally tuned her out.

"-the Morgan pack in Oakridge, a bunch of young pups with a crazy old bat as an Alpha. She's pushing ninety, I swear, but all her pups are bitten and not a day over fifteen. I guess she finally realized she's the last of her family. Then there's the Valhouns in Medford a bit further south. They're actually half were and half vamp, started by some strange marriage between an Alpha and a King. It was love at first sight, I hear. No one's really sure how they make it work, but they do so good on them, you know? If only we could all be so lucky."

"No, keep going," Stiles mumbled, not even bothering to pick his head up off the table. Lexa would hear him.

"Well, over in Sumpter, the Bailey pack run things. They're all born and it shows. I don't think they've let a bitten wolf stay on their territory in twenty years, let alone any other supernaturals. Sorry, honey, probably best to just ignore that."

"Keep going."

"That's everything."

Stiles groaned. "Okay, go a bit further. What do you have out of state?"

"Closest to you? Well, there is one..." Lexa said, hesitating uncharacteristically.

"Tell me about it," Stiles ordered, ready to shack up with anyone as long as they were close.

"It's the Hale pack," Lexa said quietly as if she thought they would hear her from hundreds of miles away. "The current Alpha is Talia Hale. She's one of the most respected Alphas in the country, if not the most respected Alpha in the northwest. She's mated to a human and has a mix of humans and werewolves in her pack because of it. Not any other supernaturals, but she used to be known for her tolerance."

"Used to be?" Stiles asked in a whisper, unwilling to speak too loud in case it disturbed the spell Lexa was weaving with her words.

"There was an awful incident a few years ago. This hunter moved in, pretended like she was playing nice, then tried to trap all the Hales in their own house and burn them alive."

" _What?!_ "

Lexa hummed. "It's true. If Talia's oldest daughter hadn't been home, they would have died. Can you imagine? The Hales just...all gone. And in such a disrespectful manner."

"What happened to the hunter?" Stiles asked, breath caught. For some reason, Lexa's words made his stomach roll and his magic spark.

"Oh, that's the best part," Lexa said, her voice angry and gleeful at the same time. "One of the other Hales, no one really knows, caught Kate and all her accomplices. Tore them to pieces, they did. It was a _massacre_."

And that right there stopped Stiles in his tracks.

"Well, they certainly sound like an option," Stiles said in a monotone. What Lexa didn't know wouldn't hurt her. "Thanks for the chat, Lexa. Talk again soon."

Stiles sat there, alone in a cold business room hundreds of miles away from his home, and breathed. In and out and in and out and in and out.

Two weeks later, when the pack was sitting around a booth eating dinner at the diner, the idea to move came up somehow. Maybe Jackson mentioned it, maybe it was Erica.

Either way, when Scott asked if anyone had any ideas on where to go, Stiles took a deep breath, set his drink down, and spoke.

"Y'know, I've heard of a pack nearby."

A week after that, the pack pulled in at the Bluewolf Motel, _best deal in Oakridge_ , and Stiles sighed. It would do.

And it did.

-x-x-x-x-

Weeks flashed by one after the other. The pack left Oakridge, after killing Alpha Morgan. Lexa was right, she was a crazy old bat. Biting kids for their power was sick, Stiles had whispered to her as his pack released all the weres. He'd held a knife to her shriveled old neck as he watched, making sure the kids left with this or that pack. When the room finally emptied, Stiles had smiled at Alpha Morgan and jerked the knife across her throat.

In Medford, they'd been happy for a short month before one of Alpha Valhoun's pet leeches got a bit bite happy. Kira had been terrified, frying him before either of the Alphas could react. They'd left intact, but had been asked not to return. Something they, of course, had no problem with.

By the time they got to Sumpter, Stiles was a tightly wound spring, ready to let go on anybody. His magic was sparking at the slightest provocation. When Alpha Bailey had sneered at Isaac, he'd been ready to just slaughter them all and claim their territory. He'd even managed to take down a couple of their precious born wolves, _true wolves_ , before Scott was able to drag him out of a mountain ash circle.

Yeah, the True Alpha thing was a surprise, but dearly welcome when it meant Alpha Bailey letting them go without repercussions.

They'd traveled a few weeks, settling in this town and that, almost ready to give up. It was like it had been that first month after Stiles and Scott had left home, fighting everything that came across their path just for the chance to live one more day.

And so, ten miles from the California border, in a rundown dive of a restaurant, Stiles looked at his pack and sighed. They were all scratched up, injured in various ways. Boyd and Erica had matching clawed throats, Isaac was limping on a leg that had barely stayed on, Jackson had stitches all up the left side of his face. Allison's bottom lip was bisected by a cut that would scar her from lip to chin, Lydia had her arm in a sling as she recovered from a dislocated shoulder and torn muscle, all the bones in Kira's right hand had broken, and Scott's torso was pockmarked by holes left over from wolfsbane arrows as they slowly healed.

Stiles had the worst damage, inside and out. His overenthusiastic magic had given him second degree burns on his hands while his senses had left him wide open for one of Kira's attacks, the electricity leaving lichtenberg figures all over his arms. Those, at least, were slowly fading. So was the black eye and swollen jaw, even if it was at an even slower rate. His ribs were bandaged as much as he could stand. The bandages served a second purpose that the pack was unaware of. They flinched at every mark that come up on him, so he didn't think it would help them to know that he was shaking apart from the inside.

"Where do we go now?" Kira asked, slumped into Isaac's side as he stroked her hair and rubbed his nose all over the side of her face.

"I don't know," Scott choked out, shaking his head at his failure. He felt like he'd been failing his pack at every turn these days. "I don't know."

Stiles sighed again, taking all his misgivings about their last option and locking them into a tiny box that he shoved to the back of his mind. "South."

"South? How far?" Scott asked as he tilted his head.

"A couple hundred miles," Stiles shrugged. Staring down at the table so his friends wouldn't see his true feelings practically screaming from his eyes, he thanked every deity he knew the name of for the masking pendant he had created. It was perfect for hiding his emotions and his heartbeat in situations like this. "There's a decent sized town called Beacon Hills. There's a pack there by the name of Hale. Old, respected, born. I hear they have humans, though."

"What about other supernaturals?" Lydia asked curiously, hope leaking into her voice.

Stiles shook his head. "None that I know of, but Talia is known to be pretty tolerant."

"Well, it's a start," Scott decided, rising from the table. "Everybody pack up your stuff this evening. We'll leave for Beacon Hills tomorrow."

And they did.

-x-x-x-x-

It took three days and they were the longest three days of Stiles's life. The closer they got to Beacon Hills, the more he wanted to scream. The more he wanted to run. The more he wanted to fight, kill, conquer. Power rushed through his veins and throbbed in his head.

He didn't know what to do.

On the one hand, he wanted his pack to be able to settle somewhere, to find a real home. On the other hand, Beacon Hills was such a powered land with such a horrible history that he kind of hoped Talia Hale met them at the border with her entire pack to keep them out.

As it was, a phone call ahead had Alpha Hale at the coffee shop closest to the Welcome to Beacon Hills sign, two men sitting with her.

"Alpha McCall," she said confidently, holding her hand out to Scott. They shook hands and she pointed to the tall man standing at her right then the dark skinned man on her left. "My husband and mate, Nathan. Our Emissary, Deaton. Sadly, my second couldn't join us today. He's feeling a bit...unstable."

And in that moment Stiles knew that her second had been the one to slaughter those hunters. He could see it like a movie playing right in front of him. A beautiful wolf tearing through the hunters with easy rage, blood matting gray fur and staining large teeth as blue eyes flashed. That was a second's job, after all. Negotiation and retribution.

"Pleased to meet you, Alpha Hale," Scott said formally, his discomfort mostly hidden. Stiles stepped forward when gestured toward. "My Emissary and second, Stiles."

"Pleased to meet you," Stiles echoed, still focused on the past showing itself to him.

"And you," Talia replied, smiling at him gently. "Maybe you and our Emissary would like to get together at some point? Discuss techniques and such."

"Maybe," Stiles repeated. The vision faded away slowly and he blinked, turning to sweep his eyes over Deaton. Distrust filled his every pore and he had to clench sparks into his hand behind his back, relaxing only when Kira covered it gently. He turned to Scott, laying his head on his shoulder and rubbing against the soft fabric of his brother's shirt. "Maybe not."

"We'd like to ask your permission to stay in your territory," Scott spoke up before anyone could question what Stiles meant. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kira's eyes glowing slightly as she pulled Stiles's power into her. They had discovered that, while she couldn't really _do_ anything with it, she could hold Stiles's power within her until he could do something more permanent with the overflow. "You can refuse, of course, but we were hoping to stay here for at least a week. That way we have time to regroup if we need to leave."

"You can stay," Talia said with a gentle smile curving her lips and steel in her eyes. "As long as you can abide by a few...conditions."

"Of course," Scott promised. "Anything we can do, we will."

And they did.

* * *

 **A/N: Sooo, I decided to write a prequel to 'you and me are the lucky ones' just because I wanted everyone to see where the McCall pack was coming from. With what I've written in this, I might write a prequel to the prequel that explains where/why/how Stiles's magic.**

 **Please review,**

 **~S.**


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